


nobody else has you down, but me

by twinks



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Bottom Louis, Drunk Sex, Drunk karaoke, Louis is a Ziam shipper, M/M, Older Harry, Online Dating, Top Harry, Younger Louis, is that how you spell that idk, louis is sub af for harry but i mean when isnt he
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinks/pseuds/twinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Is Styles really your last name ? </i><br/> <br/><i> If this isn’t a pick up line I’ll be very disappointed...xx </i><br/> <br/>Louis’ heart races. He sucks it up and types quickly.</p><p>  <i>You really think I’d go straight for the cliche ‘cool last name, can I have it’? Asking for a stranger’s hand in marriage is a bit forward … Don’t you think ? </i></p><p>[Louis gets set up on a dating website. Harry is one of his 12 matches.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	nobody else has you down, but me

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to everyone on Twitter that has helped me get through writing smut. I love you all.

Louis is moping.

He doesn’t _like_ to admit he’s moping, but considering he’s in his bed in fetal position wondering whether life actually has meaning, it’s safe to say everyone in their right mind could tell he’s moping.

It all traces back to Zayn. _Zayn_ and his perfect stubble and hair and eyebrows, getting every man he could ever want just by batting his eyelashes at them. Who the bloody fuck is that good looking? And, more importantly, who the bloody _fuck_ can get laid every day of the week? He’s entirely convinced at this point that Zayn’s not real. Which, if that was the case, would be incredibly sad, seeing as a figment of his imagination gets more action than he does.

A small amount of sun pours into his room, rays of light shining down in random places. He can see specks of dust flying around, flittering gently until they reach the floor. He kind of wants to throw himself on the ground and roll into the kitchen to grab some cereal, but who is he kidding? Zayn’s probably getting head while nonchalantly sitting in one of their kitchen chairs. (It’s happened before.)

He settles for grunting. It’s quiet at first, just small, incredibly weak sounding grunts that Zayn could think was either him or a small, dying animal trapped in a wall.

“Louis? I think a mouse is trapped or something.” Comes from the living room. He hates Zayn.

“‘S _me_ ,” Louis yells, throwing a temper tantrum. He bangs his legs against the bed until gross spring noises start to loudly shriek under his weight and throws around his limp arms like a rag doll. He probably looks like he’s in the middle of an exorcism. “I’m _sad_.”

He hears loud footsteps against their hardwood floors and stops his weird episode when he hears his doorknob rattling. Zayn opens the door slowly and peers into the doorway like he’s afraid Louis is going to be naked and throwing a rage fit, his eyes squinted and hands out in front of him. “What’s happened?”

“Let me see,” Louis sits up, leaning against his headboard with crossed arms. “I’m sad, because,” Zayn leans against the doorway, preparing for the rant he’s heard close to twenty times, “You sound like some sort of… some sort of _animal_ while in the middle of sex, and I’m left to get no sleep while you have the time of your life. I’m a _grown man_ , Zayn-”

“I know, Lou-”

“A _grown man_ -”

“Yes, a grown man-”

“I deserve some respect, you… you fucking _perfect wanker_.”

Zayn’s eyebrows lift up and his mouth quirks into an amused smile. His bed head is still styled to perfection, too, the fuckwit. “That’s… a surprisingly tame insult.”

“That’s because I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to make you feel guilty for being very, _very_ obnoxious while getting fucked. Or fucking, I really don’t want to know whether you top or bottom, that’d completely shatter the small boundaries we still have.” Louis closes his eyes and tries to think of happy thoughts. Kittens purring. Really hot porn videos where the bottom is really responsive, because it reminds him of himself. Not that… not that he turns _himself_ on, it’s more like it reminds him of the (very few) times he’s been fucked really good on his bed, sweaty, _heart racing_. Wow. He needs to get laid.

“Are you okay?”

Louis blinks. Looks at Zayn, who isn’t leaning against the doorway anymore, rather looking at him with wide eyes. Blinks again. “Why?”

“You sort of just… stopped talking. You got this weird look in your eye, like you were going to pounce on the closest thing near you.”

“I was thinking of when I brought that guy home… when was it?” His eyes bug out of his head. It’s November. The last time he brought a guy over was when he went out in March for a pint. What the fuck? “What the fuck? That’s like eight months without _anything_. What even am I? How am I still alive?”

“I know what you need.” Zayn says, clicking his tongue. His shirt is wrinkled, weird fingerprint-like dents in them. “ _Match dot com_.” He pronounces thickly, patting his jeans for his carton of cigarettes. “Fuck, I’m a genius. Seriously, man. You just sit right here, I’m going to make you one.”

“I’m not going on a bloody fucking online dating website, Z. I’m not a forty year old woman who’s recently gotten divorced. Besides, everyone on there is either, like I said, a forty year old lonely woman or a very, very old man who catfishes young people. It’s… no. Absolutely not.”

Louis watches as Zayn looks at him with a look he’s grown to hate. Absolutely fucking _despise_. It’s a look that says “Fuck you, Louis. I’m doing it.” He’s seen that look a billion times, the most recent one being where poor, poor Liam (who is genuinely in love with Zayn) was a little drunk and was spilling his heart out to Zayn about his great aunt Martha and Zayn took that as a great way to get into his pants. Of course, after a week of very, incredibly sad texts from Liam, (“ _I fucked Zayn and I can’t even_ remember _it. What the fuck is my luck, Louis?_ ”) he finally made Zayn go out on a date with Liam, but, because Zayn is a wank stain at times, he said he broke his toe. (Louis’ got a theory that Zayn’s actually in love with Liam and that’s why he avoids him. _Or_ he’s found out that Liam has stalked him on Facebook, scrolling back all the way to 2008.)

Zayn doesn’t say anything. All he does is make a weird kind of distorted duck face, raise his eyebrows, and walks out. Louis is left sitting up in his bed with only one sock on, questioning life again.

His phone buzzes a couple of minutes later.

 **Niall Horan to Louis Tomlinson [2:39 P.M.]** : Whats ur fave sex position

 **Louis Tomlinson to Niall Horan [2:40 P.M.]** : What is Zayn even doing does match.com even have those kinds of questions ?? Why is he asking you ???

 **Niall Horan to Louis Tomlinson [2:44 P.M.]** : Zayn isn’t asking me anything I just wanted to know .. I was thinking you like to ride ? I’m right, right ? You got the thighs

Louis throws his phone across the room.

-

 **Zayn Malik to Louis Tomlinson** **[3:02 P.M.]** : username: louist91 password: cockringsarecool

 **Louis Tomlinson to Zayn Malik [3:03 P.M.]** : No thanks .

And that’s that.

-

It’s a Friday.

He’s off for the weekend.

It happens on accident.

Okay so, it wasn’t an accident. It’s the result of pure boredom when he does it, _honestly_.

He sets Zayn’s laptop on his lap and clicks on Zayn’s profile, typing in ‘weetabix’ for his password and watches as the desktop loads. It takes more than a minute, because Zayn’s laptop is about a month away from death, probably because all of the porn he downloads. (Who even _downloads_ porn? Zayn does.)

He clicks on Google Chrome, averting his eyes from the row of favorites he really does _not_ want to see, especially since one time he saw one that said, _Big Hulking Bear Attacks Young Twink_ , and well. That’s kind of… Liam-y? Liam’s shirts aren’t exactly bulging from his biceps but he definitely isn’t a twink. (Louis’ theory really exploded there, and he felt that he truly knew in that moment that Zayn wanked over Liam.)

 _Match.com_ , he types, cringing when his profile is already signed in. He looks back towards the front door and hopes Zayn stays at someone _elses_ flat for a change tonight, because he really doesn’t need Zayn looking over his shoulder and giving him a script.

The corner of the site has his profile picture, a picture from about a month ago when him and Zayn went to a festival, he looks alright in it, so good job on Zayn. _Interested in men._ Very true. There’s only a couple of his interests, like music festivals, some of his favorite bands and movies, and there’s a box in the corner that says _12 Close Matches_.

Hmm. Louis stares at it, the cursor hovering over. This could be a bad thing to do, maybe his matches are weird, weird people who are only on here to kidnap people. He’s a little scared, because he once watched a special on serial killers and there was one who targeted people on dating websites. He could die because of Zayn’s bright idea.

He finally clicks on it, watching as the profile pictures of the twelve matches near him load onto the screen.

_Kevin Smith. 23. London._

Louis’ impressed. The man on screen has a little bit of stubble and a very neat styled curly fringe. His eyes are a light brown or green, he can’t really tell from the flash in the picture. So far it’s a yes. He scrolls down and sees the information about him and immediately recoils at his music taste. “ _I like Arcade Fire, The Head and the Heart-”_  Oh no.  _Hipster_. He denies the match.

 _Nicholas Ray. 21. London_.

The man in the picture is very adorable. He lets out an “aww” and scrolls down to his information after staring for (way too long) at his dimples. His favorite movie is… _Shrek?_ He denies the match without a doubt. Goodbye cute dimpled Nicholas. 

_Harry Styles. 23. London._

_Styles?_ What a fucking cool last name. He has a decent last name, sounds a bit like he’s a rich boy that wears white button ups and slicks his hair back, but it’s _decent_. This guy has _Styles_. How fucking lucky. He sounds like a rockstar.

He scrolls down to look at his profile picture. From his name, he’s imagining some kind of long greasy haired, dirty looking rockstar from the 80’s. He was incredibly, incredibly wrong.

It takes Louis a minute to convince himself he’s real. That Harry Styles walks around London. Where he lives. With his real life legs.

His profile picture is him with a hat on sipping a fucking juicebox, yet Louis’ knees are weak. He’s literally just holding a fucking juicebox. Nothing sexy about it, but Louis is probably about to walk out into the streets of London just to get a glimpse of this person.

_Hiiii! I'm Harry Styles. I’m currently 23 and live in London, where I work. I am a photographer, have been since a young age, and am truly passionate about my job. I like lots of music, romantic comedies, and Christmas time. I look for a sense of humor, nice eyes, and a nice smile in my partner. Hope you accept me :) .xx_

His ‘about me’ is very smart sounding, kind of professional. It’s way nicer than  _his_ , because he sadly doesn’t know how to change the bloody thing. He’s stuck with Zayn’s terrible summary of him. ( _I’m Louis Tomlinson, 19, and from London. I like to go to music festivals with my very best mate who is very, very attractive, Zayn Malik. I like music that’s overplayed, football, and to sing karaoke whilst pissed out of my mind. I have a nice arse.)_

“Fuck me in the earlobe,” He says in awe. He’s never, ever said that before, and he definitely doesn’t have a weird earlobe kink. Harry Styles just does that to him.

He scrolls down his profile and lets out a pained grunt when he sees other pictures of him. There’s one with his tongue out, and Louis loses all self control. He lets his hand go straight down to his cock and squeezes his semi. He got a semi from a juicebox and a tongue. The next picture is of him with another hat on and doing a peace sign. His eyes go straight to his fingers, and he chokes a little when he sees rings. _Rings_. The final picture makes him go incredibly weak everywhere. All he sees is skin and tattoos.

He’s about to ruin Zayn’s keyboard.

Instead of wanking to pictures like a proper creep, he thinks of sad things like dying puppies and missing an episode of The Walking Dead, accepts the match, and sighs in relief when his desperate boner goes down.

The “message” option appears and he clicks it so fast he’s surprised Zayn’s laptop doesn’t have a message pop up that says “Slow down, Louis. _Jesus_.”

He settles for the first thing that comes to his mind.

_Is Styles really your last name ?_

He stares at it after it sends, thinking of how great he is. The message isn’t weird, isn’t, like, too forward or anything, because he could have _definitely_ messaged him something like “Hey. Dick pics ?? xx” and he probably would have been blocked. This, though, is a great conversation starter. They may start talking about families and then talk about their future children, who knows.

A check mark appears on his message a few seconds later, and _fuck_. He isn’t ready. He forgot all about Harry being online, even though it says _Online now!_ right next to his profile, right next to the fucking picture of him drinking from a juicebox that gave him an awkward boner.

_If this isn’t a pick up line I’ll be very disappointed...xx_

Louis’ heart races. He sucks it up and types quickly.

_You really think I’d go straight for the cliche ‘cool last name, can I have it’? Asking for a stranger’s hand in marriage is a bit forward … Don’t you think ?_

The check mark appears again. Louis sucks in a breath, waiting for his reply. Maybe that sounded rude? Maybe he hates him for adding spaces before periods and question marks? He breaks out into a sweat.

_Simple, but effective ;)_

Louis sits there, the darkened room illuminated by the laptop. He looks at his message for a good three minutes. He’s rendered him speechless. _He’s_ supposed to make other people nervous. That’s what he does. That’s his special talent to picking up blokes. Why does _he_ have sweaty palms? What is Harry Styles?

_You there?_

“Fuck me in the-”

_I can see that you’re reading my messages. Have I left you speechless? Or are you just away from the computer? That’d be a bit embarrassing._

Louis giggles. He actually fucking giggles. Full on, teenage girl watching their crush from a distance giggle.

_I actually have gone speechless. It’s the Harry Styles effect._

He feels _weak_. In all his years of flirting, he has never once gone into full shy, submissive mode. He feels like Harry could walk into his flat and he’d just get on all fours and present himself on the spot. The only other person he’d do that for is David Beckham, which he has loved for a very long time, and considering he’s known of Harry’s existence for probably five minutes it’s saying something.

_Where in London do you live?_

_I live close to that weird park with the swirly slides and that robotic man who always asks for tips ._

The check mark appears again and Louis’ stomach turns. He hopes Harry lives close.

_Are you serious? I could seriously walk there from my flat!_

If it wasn’t obvious before, it is now. Harry is Louis’ soulmate. Whenever Louis closes his eyes he sees flashes of himself in thirty years with Harry by his side. Or maybe he’s just being dramatic. (He’s pretty sure it’s the first option.)

He’s glad Zayn’s not here, because he’d see him in his awkward sort of squeal mode, thrashing his hands all over the place and making weird noises when Harry replies.

_Do you know where Sunny’s is ?? I get absolutely smashed and sing karaoke all the time !!_

That wasn’t a push. Louis swears it wasn’t. He absolutely _isn’t_ hoping for Harry to get the hint and meet him there. Absolutely not.

_Love that place! We should maybe meet there? If that’s not weird?_

“I’ve hit the jackpot.” Louis says into the empty flat. He leans back and makes a weird gurgle noise of excitement and sits back up, wiping the odd expression from his face.

_No we should ! How about tomorrow , I’m off for the weekends ?_

_That sounds great, actually. What time is good for you?_

Louis feels like he’s on a cloud. He feels like he’s floating through a very nice sky full of rainbows and candy. Although Harry has a lot of pictures of himself on the profile, there’s also a little bit of nerves involved because what if he turns out to be a very, very creepy fifty year old man? Not only would that be incredibly scary, it’d be very disappointing. Louis wants to get laid, not killed and left in an alley.

_How about 6 ? Anything’s good for me , really_

He presses enter and watches as the check mark appears straight away. It’s exciting. Harry is reading it with his own eyes. He exits the message screen and goes back to one of his pictures, because wow, he doesn’t even know what color eyes he has. He leans into the laptop, squinting at the small, pixelated pictures to see what color they are, when a very distinct Zayn cough splutters loudly behind him.

Louis throws the laptop off of himself.

It’s a very stupid thing to do in a time of panic, but you know. Hide the dating website comes first before Zayn’s laptop safety.

“What the _fuck_ , Lou? Did you just _throw_ my fucking laptop? Everyone watches porn, man, there’s no need to be ashamed?”

Not knowing what to do, absolutely _sure_ he’s going to see the webpage, he curls into a ball. He figures he looks a bit like a hedgehog.

“ _Match_ , huh? _Harry Styles_?”

“Louis isn’t here right now. Please leave a message-”

“You don’t have to be _embarrassed_ , Louis-”

“-at the beep. _Beep_ -”

“-it’s a natural thing to want a date, it’s not anything to be ashamed of-”

“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system-”

_Bleep._

Silence.

Louis uncovers his face and stretches his legs out. There’s a new message bubble on the screen. He blinks. “What… what did he say?”

“He said see you tomorrow, _babe_. Babe? Who _is_ this guy? He’s pretty fit, Louis, nice job.” Zayn admits, sounding genuinely surprised.

“He lives close, Z. I mean, I didn’t think I’d get a date _this_ fast, I’m — What the bloody _fuck_ are you doing home? When did you even come _in_? You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, did you know?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I brought someone home, told them to be extra quiet. Like a ninja. Got in quietly, didn’t we?”

Louis looks around and squints his eyes, “Who is it?”

“Well, I’m sorry to say that I can’t tell-”

“Zayn, _shut up_. Who is it?”

Footsteps. The only thing Louis hears is footsteps, very loud against the hard floors. There’s a bump and the sound of a crash and a faint “fuck”. “Zayn, I think I broke one of your picture frames-”

“ _Liam_?”

Liam looks up from the shattered picture with wide, brown eyes. “Um. I just came over here for one of your strawberry popsicles?”

“More like _Zayn’s_ popsicle, for fuck’s sake,” Louis mumbles, snatching the laptop back. “You kids go do your thing. Use a condom, Zayn, for whatever position you may do, Liam likes strawberries and Zayn likes blueberries, I’m sure we have both of those flavors. Goodnight.”

He walks out of the living room and into his room, shutting the door with a grin.

_Ziam._

He created that name four months ago, just after the initial fucking incident. It’s way better than _Layn_ , _Ziam_ sounds exotic and hot. He wonders what his and Harry’s name would be.

Fuck. _Harry._

He looks down at the dim laptop screen and moves his finger over the mouse pad, watching as the screen lights up again to show the messages Harry’s been sending.

_See you tomorrow, babe. ;)_

_Oh god did that ruin it_

_Please still like me you’re the only cool person I’ve met on here_

_Ohhhh honneeey please forgive meeeee_

_I’m changing the lyrics to The Liftaway to fit this moment_

_I’m going to stop now_

Louis laughs and taps his fingers over the keyboard with excitement.

_I’m still here sorry my friend Zayn busted in the flat with a boy I’ve always wanted him to fuck and so they’re probs fucking right now but I’m not even mad . Anyways tomorrow at 6 !! I’m excited_

The check mark appears and Louis smiles at the screen dumbly.

_Should we like Skype or something or wait until we see each other in real life like some sort of cool romantic movie?_

Louis sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Hmm,” he hums, tapping a beat on the keyboard. “Such a difficult decision.”

_Ummmm lets wait until tomorrow because I look like shit !!_

_I bet you don’t. You look cute in glasses by the way, I was just looking at your pictures. Not in a weird way, I was just curious._

_God_. Being so insecure about wearing glasses sounds so idiotic now whenever Harry Styles, actual human being that looks like he could be descended from a Greek god, complimented them. He’s going to throw all of his contacts out of the window. He feels his cheeks heat up at all the hot things that could happen with glasses on.

Glasses blowjob. Doesn’t sound like much, but his having glasses pressed up against someone’s tummy when he’s blowing them makes him feel so _bad_.

Come glasses. Self explanatory, jerking off until they come all over his lenses. It’s happened before, and although he should _really_ clean them as soon as it happens, it’s still hot.

Glasses are so hot to him now that Harry’s complimented them.

_I’ll be sure to wear them, then ;D_

Louis takes his contacts out and throws them on the floor. He feels around for his glasses on his cluttered nightstand and pushes them up the bridge of his nose with a shit eating grin. Harry has a glasses kink. He has glasses. Score.

_I know it’s only nine but I’m really tired.. Do you want my number? My laptop is burning my sleepy eyes..x_

_Yes !!!! yes give me your number that would be wonderful. amazing. awesome._

He can practically hear Harry laughing at his desperate, _desperate_ tone. He wonders what Harry’s voice sounds like. He’s willing to bet it’s a deep voice, and if he’s right then he might come in his pants. A deep voice combined with Harry’s looks will most likely make him weak in the knees, hard in the pants.

_020 7389 4516, call me, text me, I don’t mind.xx_

The “Online Now!” fades away from Harry’s profile and Louis pushes his glasses up in excitement. He pats around his nightstand for his phone and feels his heart drop. _Oh god._

He left it in the living room. Where Liam and Zayn are most likely fucking on every available surface.

He takes a deep, calming breath and goes criss cross applesauce on his bed. He needs to meditate for a little bit before he sees what is to come. He’s already imagining what he might find. Liam fucking Zayn on their couch. Their beautiful, pure couch. He can see Liam making a mess upon their flat’s innocence. He hums. He’s only seen meditating on movies, so he probably just looks like a twat for making a pretzel out of his legs and humming. Oh well. He tried.

Rolling out of his bed, he pads softly to his doorway, twisting the knob so slowly that he feels like by the time it’s turned he’ll be eighty years old and confined to a wheelchair for excessively using his legs.

A small creak sounds softly, making Louis cringe. So far there isn’t any noises. He opens the door a little wider, squinting his eyes to try and avert his line of vision from whatever horrifying thing that’s out in the open, but sees nothing. He makes a pleased noise and opens his eyes, walking into the living room with a happy swinging of his hips. He does this when he’s happy or excited, which ultimately made Niall call him “Happy Horny Hips” for a whole year until Louis punched him in the face.

His socks make soft dragging noises against the floors and he sees his phone, laying straight in the middle of the couch like he was waiting for his master.

Picking it up, he unlocks it with a quick “b-u-t-t-s” and goes straight to the bottom of his phone, tapping the green “phone” app. “ _I’m gonna get me some di-i-ick_ ,” he sings, closing his door on his way back in.

The laptop is already dim when he gets back to being situated on his bed, so he moves his fingers along the mouse pad and clears his throat. “Okay, Louis. Don’t be a fuckhead.”

He copies Harry’s number into the keypad, and once he finishes he makes a sound of distress, a mix between a turtle mating and a seal, but relaxes once he hears the dial tone. He cannot fuck this up. He takes small, even breaths. He feels like he _could_ be reenacting the breathing techniques pregnant women go through when they’re in labor, but no one really has to know that except himself.

 _“_ Hello?”

Jesus Christ.

His voice is so deep that Louis could feel it deep inside of his bones. The rasp went straight to his cock, that’s for fucking sure.

“Hello?” He squeaks. God damn it. God _damn it_. He clears his throat. “Hello? Sorry, is this Harry?”

There’s a pleased hum, which, again, goes straight to his dick. He needs therapy. “Louis?” He pronounces his name so hot, and fuck he never thought hearing his own name would make his cock jump up in attempt to get friction. “That _is_ how you say it, right? Silent ‘s’?”

“Yes, silent ‘s’. You’re correct, Mr. Styles. I still can’t believe that’s your real last name, you know. I figured you’d look like a proper rockstar.”

“I don’t look like a rockstar?” Harry gasps. Louis wants to wank. (He sits on his hands to make sure that doesn’t happen.) “I thought I did.”

“Well, I never said you _didn’t_.”

Harry’s silent for a moment. Louis is seconds away from his cock bursting from his sweatpants and demanding his right hand for a stroke or two. “I like your voice.”

Louis feels his stomach flip. He might die soon, while his favorite couple is fucking somewhere uncertain in the flat. It wouldn’t be a bad death. “It’s all… high. Yours is proper bad boy sounding. I like it.”

“Bad boy?” Harry laughs into the phone, and all of Louis’ life goals seem possible to achieve. “I’ll have you know that I’m the farthest thing from a bad boy. I water my neighbor’s plants and sing songs for schoolchildren sometimes. I hope that doesn’t shatter the illusion. I still have the tattoos going for me though, which is _kinda_ bad boy-ish.”

“So you’re incredibly sweet _and_ good looking? I don’t think I can handle this.”

“You better handle it. I want to see you singing karaoke while, and I quote, pissed out of your mind. Unquote.”

So Harry’s got his stupid about me memorized. That’s cool. “I hope you know my mate typed that up, which is why he’s got a sentence talking about how fit he is.”

“Yeah, I figured. I’m kind of hoping to test out his _theory_.”

“What theory?”

“If you have a nice arse or not.”

Louis scoffs. “I’ll have you know that it isn’t a _theory_. It’s a _fact._ How would you even test that out, anyways?”

“I have big hands.”

Louis chokes on his saliva. He honest to god chokes on his saliva, coughing so loudly that it makes his ears ring. Smooth. How very smooth. “Jesus, I just nearly died-”

“Big arse, big hands. Nice combination if you ask me.”

Louis is so happy that Harry can’t see him, because his eyes are so wide that the entire white part could probably be seen. “I don’t know if you’re trying to initiate phone sex or not.”

“Well, that would ruin the fun for tomorrow.”

Louis’ stomach growls. He is hungry for dick. (And, you know, also food.) “I have a question. Should I wear a fringe or quiff-”

“Fringe. Definitely fringe.”

“I have another question.”

“Give it to me.”

“What color are your eyes? I cannot tell from my laptop screen for the life of me.”

Harry laughs again, a loud bark that makes Louis’ skin tingle. (Hopefully it’s because of the cute factor, not because of an unknown illness.) “Green.”

Louis huffs. “That’s not fair. Only two percent of the world has green eyes. I want green eyes.”

“Well, yours are beautiful. I love blue eyes, but yours are like… wow. Like an ocean or something. I could become a poet looking at them.”

“That was _by far_ the cheesiest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

“Speaking of cheese, I’m really fucking hungry. I just got into bed though, so I’m too lazy to get up.”

Louis’ stomach growls again. “What the fuck, Harry. Now _I’m_ dying of hunger. Can you please teleport some snacks into my room?”

Harry hums. “I’m too sleepy to teleport.”

“You say that like you can actually teleport.”

“You don’t know my life.”

Louis bursts out laughing, containing his embarrassing giggles into the sleeve of his jumper. “This is weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“I’m talking to you like I’ve known you forever. I like talking to you. It’s easy.”

Harry breathes out sharply, a tired laugh filling Louis’ ear. “You just said _I_ was cheesy. Now look at you. You’ve gone and got all sentimental.”

Louis’ eyes droop. “Your voice is making me tired. You talk really fucking slow and deep. You’re like an audiobook.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

Louis considers for a moment and hums into the phone sleepily. “Dunno. No.”

“How have we gone from talking about your arse to being incredibly sleepy? I think this is what old married couples are like.” His voice is slow, filling his ears like a lullaby. Louis is probably in love.

“Harry, if I fall asleep with you on the phone I’m going to have to pay, like, a thousand dollars for my phone bill.”

Harry grunts. “Should we hang up?”

“I mean… if you want to. Yes? I’m seconds away from passing out.”

“You hang up first.”

Louis laughs sleepily into the receiver, eyes shut. “No, _you_.”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead.

Louis opens his eyes and looks at his phone, back on his screensaver. What the fuck just happened.

 **Harry Styles to Louis Tomlinson [9:39 P.M.]** : That was a joke I’ve wanted to do for a long time I’m not rude I swear… Goodnight.. See you tomorrow.xx

Louis manages to type a single ‘I’ before dropping his phone and falling asleep.

(Harry’s got the voice of his secondary school history teacher. He fell asleep so many times that he eventually had to change teachers.)

-

Louis is having a mid life crisis.

Although mid life crises generally happen during one’s mid life and he isn’t actually sure what the symptoms are, he’s almost certain this is what happens.

His palms are sweating and knees are weak. (It takes him all of his self control not to break out into spontaneous rap.) The inside of his closet is spread messily over his floor, and once he cleans it up he’s sadly going to have to pick away the chip crumbs that will inevitably crush and stain into his lovely, beautiful clothes.

“Are you... should I leave?”

Louis looks up to see a very smug Zayn, Liam right behind him. All he sees is skin and tattoos, and (against his will) Liam’s crotch pressed into Zayn’s arse like it was meant to be there. Like it’s his home.

“Why would you start getting ready at five? You’re meeting him at six and that will only add more unwanted stress to your life. Relax, friend. Go,” Liam hooks his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, “We will help you pick an outfit.”

So, what Louis is getting from this is Zayn’s arse has given Liam a spiritual awakening. He squints up at them, trying his best to ignore Zayn’s cock straining against his boxers.

“Really?”

“Yes, I already have a shirt in mind-”

“No, I mean, _really_? You’re acting like your sex encounter with Zayn over here has given you a guided path from God-”

Liam huffs. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

Louis feels like he’s on the verge of death. He flings his body backwards and lies down in the pile of clothes. “Okay. I give up. Give me an outfit.”

Liam’s body emerges from behind Zayn. Apparently, Liam thinks not taking proper precautions to cover his dick is acceptable, because Louis’ gets an eyeful of Liam’s “ten inch”. It’s not like he measured it with his eyes, Zayn never stopped talking about it after the first fucking incident. (“ _Lou, it’s fucking gigantic. Like, I’ve seen my fair share of dicks, but holy shit. Liam Payne has a proper trouser snake_ -” “ _Enough_!”)

He settles for pressing his face into one of his dirty shirts, which, not surprisingly, smells like rotten cheese.

“I’ve already picked something,” Liam announces, sitting on the edge of his bed. Naked. Louis cringes at the sight of Liam’s bare asscheek pressed against his sheets. His sweet, poor, innocent sheets. “These pants,” He holds up a pair of black skinny jeans with a small rip above the left knee, swinging them around while wriggling his eyebrows, “And this shirt.” It’s his _The Script_ tour shirt from years past. He hums.

“Pretty good for a naked best friend fucker who thinks his skills in putting outfits together is better than a professional designer.” Louis compliments the best he possibly can. It’s not exactly easy when Liam’s abnormally large _cock_ is out, having the time of its life, swaying in the wind.

He looks over at Zayn, who’s been exceptionally quiet, and immediately wants to burn his eyes. Wants to get _rid_ of that image as fast as he can. He’s looking at Liam with this horrible kind of… predator look, like he’s seconds away from pouncing on him. Louis stands up so fast he blacks out a little.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone…” He takes the clothes from Liam’s outstretched hands, averting his eyes from the Payne Monster. “ _Please_ ,” He stops in the doorway, still facing forward. He really could not handle anything sexual between them two at the moment. “No fucking on my bed.”

“No promises.” Zayn says, words jumbled and muffled. Louis doesn’t have to turn back to see that they’re kissing like the world’s about to end. On his bed.

A mix between a frustrated and disgusted groan leaves his lips. They’re going to fuck on his bed and there’s nothing he can do about it.

 **Harry Styles to Louis Tomlinson [5:07 P.M.]** : Hiii might run a little late to Sunny’s, my model for today’s work is stuck in traffic :( Sorry .xx See you soon :)

-

Sunny’s is packed.

He takes a seat by one of the windows, the neon signs reflecting on his glasses. It’s a shitty, stupid spot and now Harry’s going to hate him.

It’s a weird thing to be so scared of a stranger’s opinion. He hasn’t even seen Harry in real life, he could be an axe murderer and he’d never know. He really, really hopes Harry’s not a serial killer. He’d have to somehow communicate with his mum and get it across that it was Zayn’s fault, and that his tombstone should read “Thanks Zayn.”

He pulls his phone out from his pocket and presses the home button. _6:12_. He’s being stood up.

Looking up from his phone, he pushes his glasses up from where they’ve been slipping. He looks all around the small space, seeing girls laughing with their friends, sees a couple kissing under the bright “PINTS” sign, sees an old man… staring at him?

Okay. This has to be nonchalant. He looks back down at his phone, pressing the home button again. _6:13_. This is starting to freak him out. He might shit his pants soon.

He clears his throat, looking at his phone like he’s reading something, and looks back up. The old creepy man is _still_ staring at him.

Harry Styles is a catfish, he decides.

That old man is definitely posing as Harry Styles and is a serial killer that lures people on online dating sites. This is possibly Louis’ last day alive. The sky outside is darkening a little, which, doesn’t really help him at all. He’s going to be killed at night and have his body shoved in an alley and no one will ever find him. Oh _fuck_. He knew it was too good to be true.

 **Louis Tomlinson to Zayn Malik [6:14 P.M.]** : Lmfao fuck you I hate you I’m about to die please tell my mum I want a cool funeral, no crying, please play my playlist that’s titled ‘fuck ya xD’ while everyone is viewing my mangled body

He closes his phone. His heart races. He cannot believe that he, Louis Tomlinson, has fallen for a catfish trap. He’s about to be murdered because Harry Styles is attractive and he can’t resist attractive blokes.

The bell dings on the door. He’s counting down to the moment the old man comes at him and takes him away, because let’s face it, Louis has no upper body strength and couldn’t possibly fight even an old man off. The only advantage he has is his voice, which can carry through walls, Zayn’s once told him before.

Hands are on him.

He lets out a blood curdling scream in the middle of Sunny’s.

“ _Louis_?”

Louis tears his hands away from his face and gets ready to book it the fuck out of Sunny’s, but he’s met with Harry’s face. _Actual_ Harry’s face. Not the old man’s.

“ _Harry_? I thought you were the fucking old man-”

“Bert?”

“ _Bert?_ ”

“He’s my pal. I asked if he could come here and make sure you didn’t leave. I knew I was going to be late, I didn’t want you to think I was standing you up.” Harry says, like telling his old man friend to watch him at a bar isn’t creepy. Louis is in hysterics.

He blinks. Takes a deep breath. Blinks again. “I thought I was about to be kidnapped.”

Harry looks at him with apologetic green eyes. He puts a bouquet of roses down on the slick table. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I feel like a _dick_.”

“No, it’s - it’s fine. Just sit, yeah?” Louis feels out of breath for three very different reasons. First of all, he was certain there was about to be a pair of old, wrinkly hands on him, taking him out of Sunny’s and into the nearest ditch. Second of all, Harry’s so fucking _beautiful_ in real life that Louis genuinely feels faint. His eyes are so rich and green and he feels a little sweaty just looking into them. Lastly, Harry Styles brought him roses.

Harry sits down, looking like a giant, overgrown kitten. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s just… I once watched a dateline episode where this man posed as beautiful men on the internet to lure people to a secluded place. They got, like, killed in very violent ways.” Louis explains, waving his hand to dismiss the topic. “Anyways.” He pulls the roses towards him, smiling at the delicate petals. He’s in love with Harry. It’s been, like, a day.

“Is that… is your shirt from 2008?”

He looks down at his _The Script_ tour shirt. He raises his eyebrows and looks back to Harry, who’s got his mouth wide open. “Yes?”

“I was there. At that show.”

Jesus Christ. Harry’s his soulmate. There’s no doubt about it now. “Are you serious?”

Harry’s long hair curls at the base of his neck. He’s got a few rings on, a necklace, a red striped shirt, and black skinny jeans. Louis feels, again, a little faint. “We were at the same gig.” He says matter-of-factly. “Sick.” His smile is breathtaking. It’s making Louis want to strip and bend over the table. _Jesus_. He needs to get it together.

“Should we get some pints?” Louis taps his fingers on the table. “I’d quite like to get plastered and sing Queen.”

Harry laughs loudly just like he did on the phone. His hair falls into his face when he leans forward, and if Louis gets to pull those curly strands, feel it in his hands, then he’d consider his life well lived. “You have a cute nose. And glasses. And everything, really.”

Louis feels his cheeks heat up. Harry Styles _weakens_ him. “Stop.” He ducks his head, letting his fringe fall into his face. “You’re making me blush.”

Harry’s chair groans as he leans over and Louis can barely think before Harry’s hand is touching his face, tipping his chin up so he’s looking straight into his eyes. “I’m serious. You’re _cute_.” His green eyes have sprinkles and splatters of blue in them. They remind Louis of the world. He feels a bit like a volcano right now, about to explode any second. Also, very red. He’s a blushing mess and it’s all because Harry Styles, who isn’t a catfish or the old creepy man staring at him by the rows of pint glasses.

“Well, you’re not.” Louis says. Harry puts a hand on his chest, leaning back like he’s been hit in the chest. “You’re more manly and handsome… and rugged.”

Harry lets out a loud laugh at that, and Louis pushes his glasses up smugly. He made Harry laugh. “Pints. That sounds nice.”

“Did that rhyme?”

Harry’s face goes entirely serious. “Yes. I have a special skill with rhyming.”

Raising his eyebrows, Louis leans forward, fringe falling into his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“ _Oh yeah._ ”

Louis feels his cock twitch in his pants. He is truly a weak human being. He looks at Harry’s face, his bright eyes staring straight into his own, his pink lips parted slightly, nose twitching in amusement. Louis sees visions of him and Harry’s wedding, where all the cards match Harry’s lip color and the cake is split into two colors: green and blue. Louis will be Louis Tomlinson-Styles. Harry will be Harry Styles-Tomlinson. It’s settled. He’s in love.

-

“ _An invitation you can’t decliiine_ ,” Louis sings loudly into the microphone in front of him. He can’t tell if he’s being too quiet or too loud, the lights in front of him are all blending together, he might have drank too many pints. All he’s sure about is that this song is fucking amazing. “ _Caviar and cigarettes, well versed in etiquette, extra-or-ordi-narily nice, she’s a killer, queeeeen, gunpowder, gelatine_ -”

Harry yells, “Dynamite with a laser beam!” from the front row. Louis loves his fans.

“ _Guaranteed to blow your mind_ ,” Louis screams, bobbing his head into the microphone. “Harry, I’ll blow _your_ mind,”

A girl in the front row cheers at the gay sexual tension clouding the entire room.

Louis steps to his right. He feels a little dizzy. “Harry, I don’t wanna sing anymore, please carry me down like a big, fit firefighter. You’re so _sexxxxy_ ,” he mumbles into the microphone. The only way he knows he’s being too loud is the whole front row covering their ears at Louis’ piercing tone. Oops.

Harry stands up and holds his arms out, like a mama bird. Louis giggles and throws the microphone down on the wooden stage, cringing when the loud sound of static blares out of the speakers. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” Louis screeches, jumping down from the (very small) stage and into Harry’s open arms.

They fall.

Louis hits his head on the ground, but thankfully Harry’s abnormally long arm is resting down there, sprawled at a weird angle, so it cushions his fall.

“Wanna get outta here, baby?” Louis says in a deep voice. He feels like he’s on cloud nine. Cloud _Harry_ , more like. “Fuck me in my bed? Listen to hard rock? I’d even listen to _hipster music_ for you, Harry. Like, Arctic Koalas. The 1938.”

Harry bursts out laughing, burying his face into Louis’ neck. Louis is ticklish, but he doesn’t shy away from the touch, because that’s Harry Styles’ lips on his skin. “Monkeys, Louis. Not koalas.”

“Why are you trying to smother me with animal facts when we could be at my _flat_?”

Harry stumbles to get back on his feet and when he holds his hand out for Louis to take his hand, the light around his hair causes him to glow. Harry Styles is God. Louis knows the true meaning of life. It’s Harry Styles.

“Are you okay?”

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

Harry’s glazed over eyes squint in confusion. “Did you hit your head?”

Louis doesn’t think so. He’s pretty sure he didn’t. “No, I just… you’re… _Holy_.”

It takes a minute, but Harry grins. The kind of grin that Louis has come to know, the grin called “I’m about to make a shitty joke and you’re going to fake laugh or I’ll be sad.” He pats his shirt, looks behind himself, then looks back down at Louis with wide eyes. “I don’t have any _holes_ in me?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’ve killed my boner.”

Harry leans to the side. An amused grin appears on his face. “No, no. I still see it.”

Looking down, Louis realizes that yes, it’s still there. It’s definitely visible. And about to explode if there isn’t any contact soon. He whines. “ _Harry_ , I need you to do something.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me. Please. Now? Now would be _grand_.” Louis mutters impatiently, stumbling up to his feet while Harry keeps his hands out beside him to catch him if he loses his balance. The neon signs in Sunny’s are making his eyes water. Or maybe he’s just crying because Harry’s cock isn’t inside of him. Either are reasonable.

Louis pulls his phone out of his pocket, pressing the home button. _10:20_. Oh my god. He’s been with Harry for four hours.

 **Zayn Malik to Louis Tomlinson [7:12 P.M.]** : Ummmm r u still alive

 **Liam Payne to Louis Tomlinson [8:34 P.M.]** : I’M ABOUT TO CALL FOR A SWAT TEAM TO FIND YOU ARE YOU OK

 **Louis Tomlinson to Liam Payne [10:21 P.M.]** : GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE FLAT I’M COMING SOON !! YES THAT’S RIGHT!! I’M COMING TO THE FLAT WITH HARRY AND ALSO WILL BE EJACULATING !!! DOUBLE MEANING S !!! !! HAHA BITCHES TELL ZAYN TO FUCK OFF WITH HIS DUMV ASS LITTLE TATTOO HAVIN ASS !!! I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOU GUYS GOD DAMN

“Do you want to go to mine or yours?” Harry asks. Like they haven’t been discussing this since six.

“ _Mine_.” Louis says, pulling on his arm. “C’mon, I can’t wait for this, I’m so impatient,”

“I still have to test the theory,” Harry says, holding the door open for Louis as he walks out. Such a gentleman.

The sky is dark, the only light is from the outside of buildings, the neon lights being split into rays from the smudges on his glasses. “I told you. It’s a fact.”

Harry snakes his arm around Louis’ waist, and it isn’t until now that Louis realizes how much height Harry has on him. Louis looks up, pushing his glasses up with a smirk. Harry’s a head taller than him. That’s fucking hot. It makes him a little weak in the knees.

Harry ducks his head down, putting his lips on Louis’ ear. “You want me to fuck you?” His hand trails slowly down his back and above his jeans, right on his arse. Louis feels like he could possibly pass out right now, so he looks and focuses on the street in order not to do so and make a fool of himself. “Is that what you want?”

Louis feels Harry’s hand squeeze, and _oh_. He moans loudly, a few innocent bystanders looking at him with horrified faces. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

“You won’t care that your flatmates are there?” Harry asks lowly, his hand coming back up to mess with one of his belt loops. “They won’t care about how loud you’re going to be?”

“ _No_ ,” Louis breathes. He feels really dizzy now, and he’s certain that it’s because of Harry and not because of the alcohol. Harry’s mouth smells like beer and his eyes are shiny and glazed over, and he’s got a look in them like he’s going to fuck him so good that it’s going to be the only thing Louis can talk about properly for a month. Louis is so fucking ready.

Harry speeds up, his grip on Louis’ waist tightening to pull him along the street. The streetlights illuminate Harry’s face, letting Louis see the smile of excitement that’s plastered on his face permanently. “I have a plan.”

“What is your plan?”

“I want to come on your glasses.”

The way Harry says it, how nonchalant and serious it sounds, makes Louis stumble on the sidewalk and grab Harry’s shirt so hard it rips. The ripping noise is loud, the only noise on the street, and Louis looks up to see Harry’s tattoos illuminated by the streetlights. The ink is dark, such a beautiful contrast to his milky skin, and Louis is almost certain that Harry is a supernatural being. There is absolutely no way Harry is real. Maybe he’s so desperate to get laid that he created a perfect human from his mind and now he’s in a state of delusion.

Louis stares at his tattoos with an open mouth. “Can I, like, _lick_ you? Everywhere?”

“I’d love for you to, just wait.”

The _Wilder Road_ sign comes into view and Louis is so excited that he feels like he’s vibrating everywhere.

Harry giggles, a short little sound followed with a sniffle. “How fitting. You live on a road called Wilder and we’re gonna get wild.” He makes hand guns, shooting them in all directions. Louis stares at him with a blank expression. “ _Hey_. That’s funny.”

“Wanna know what’s _not_ funny?” Louis gets a good grip on his ripped shirt and pulls him along, speeding them both up towards the direction of his flat. “My aching cock.”

“Well, there, there, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry coos, bringing one of his hands out of the gun pose and petting Louis’ cock. Louis truly feels like, in that moment, he could drop dead at any second. “It’s alright. I’ll give my full attention to you when we’re safe indoors, away from the citizens of London.”

Louis looks down at his cock. It looks incredibly sad, pushing against his boxers with all of its might. Louis can see the bloody outline of it. He takes his own hand away from Harry’s ripped clothing and pets himself. “It’s okay, man. Harry’ll take care of you soon.”

-

Louis feels the wall on his back. The key’s on the ground after making a sharp ‘ding’ noise against the floor, and all he can feel now is Harry’s mouth on his neck.

After a very long wait for the elevator (because taking the stairs would make them sweaty and gross and out of breath) it’s refreshing to finally have some action. And by action, Louis means Harry’s incredibly plump, pink lips on his fucking neck like they’ve been created just to make him squirm.

Harry leans his hips back and presses back into him hard, knocking Louis’ arse into the wall. His lips are still attached to his throat, sucking and licking the warm skin. “I wanna-” He groans into the small space, the noise echoing in the hallway. “Fuck you so hard,”

Louis whimpers, letting his body go pliant against the wall. “ _Do it_ ,”

The sound of Harry’s shirt hitting the ground makes Louis’ eyes open wider, watching how his muscles move and contract in the way he’s moving. The light from the kitchen hits his body just right, so that Louis can see the swallows on his chest just right. He lets his eyes trail down, watching how the ink never seems to disappear. It keeps going on and on, and he finally sees a huge butterfly? Moth? He’s not really sure, but it’s fucking huge and covers a good portion of the front of him. He’s beautiful.

He moves without thinking, his mouth attaches to Harry’s chest without a doubt. He kisses and licks at the skin, moving away to see how his skin glistens. “Oh my god. You are seriously so _bloody fucking gorgeous_.”

Harry makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat and surges forward, his hands going straight for his throat. His grip is light, his fingertips barely ghosting over the slick skin of his warm neck, his lips pressed tight and warm to Louis’. He licks Louis’ bottom lip, and Louis feels his knees give out a little. Harry chases his lips, one of his hands moving down to catch him, and before Louis knows it, he’s being lifted off the ground.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis groans, placing his hands on Harry’s chest.

“Where’s your room?”

“Down the hall, to the left,” Louis rushes out. He’s being carried bridal style by a tattooed, gentle giant. Life is great. He’s not feeling the alcohol anymore, which is insane, considering they were at Sunny’s for four hours and he lost count after his third pint, but instead he’s drunk off of Harry. He’s breathing in his skin, breathing in his apple smelling hair. He finds Harry’s jaw with his lips, his glasses bumping Harry’s cheek.

Harry pushes his door open with a loud smack. His light’s off, it’s completely dark except for the small amount of light pouring in through the window, and Louis suddenly loses the feeling of Harry and instead feels his bed against his back.

He opens his eyes, trying to search for Harry in the dark. The lamp on his nightstand comes on, and all the air in his body leaves. Harry looks breathtaking, his long curly hair damp at the ends, his tattoos scattered around his body, his pink lips standing out. Harry starts to crawl at him, a smirk on his face that makes Louis hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

Once Harry slots himself perfectly between Louis’ legs, he leans forward and catches Louis’ lips again in a soft kiss, lips already parted. Teeth are felt before tongues, and Louis moans out in surprise when Harry bites down on his bottom lip, pulling away while looking at him with darkened eyes. Louis’ cock feels so heavy and he moves his hips upwards in a sad attempt to find something, _anything_ to rub against.

He finds Harry’s thigh, his cock moving against it through two layers of clothing. It’s not a very good feeling, but it’ll do. Some of the pressure eases once Louis starts rutting against Harry’s thigh, their lips still caught in a messy kiss.

“ _Harry_ ,” He moans, his voice breaking on the last syllable. “Harry, _please_ ,”

Harry hums, taking that as a hint to finally trail his hand down to Louis’ cock. He runs his hand back and forth over his clothed cock, biting his lip with bright, alert eyes. “You like that? Want me to take your pants off?”

Louis answers so fast that it comes out as a strangled “eugh”, his hips bucking up quickly as his answer. Harry’s hands shakily move up to unbutton and unzip his pants, painfully slow, and Louis is feeling so, so impatient that he smacks away Harry’s hands and does it himself. He shoves his pants down to his thighs and looks up at Harry with wide eyes, pushing his glasses up from where they’re sliding down.

Harry looks down at Louis’ briefs with blown pupils, his hands moving back down to where they previously were. Louis looks down and sees the outline of his cock, thick and strained against the thin material. He ghosts his fingertips over his cock, looking up at him with a smug smile. “Look how hard you are.”

“Can you _please_ , _please_ , stop talking?” Louis whines, swiveling his hips around. “I just need something, _please_ ,”

Harry takes Louis’ briefs and pulls them down in a quick motion, the cool air hitting his cock in a way that isn’t pleasant but isn’t _unpleasant_. Louis feels like he’s in a dream, something he’s wanted for so long tonight _finally_ happening. He watches Harry takes his cock in his hand, his rough, big palm, stroking skillfully with the jerk of his wrist.

“You want to come now? Or wait?”

“Wait until what?”

Harry licks his lips, looking at him so intensely it’s hard to look him in the eyes. “Until I’m fucking you.”

Louis chokes. (This has become a painfully awkward reoccurring thing that only happens when it relates to Harry.) “Wait,” he manages, spreading his legs the best he can with his briefs still around his thighs. “C’mon, then. Be a good lad,”

Harry wiggles free from the position he’s on, rolling until his feet land on the floor. “Lube? Condoms?”

“The first drawer,” Louis says breathlessly, watching as Harry shimmies out of his painfully tight jeans and is left in painfully tight briefs. He can see the outline of his cock, and it’s marvelous. It’s delightful. Louis can think of thousands of adjectives to describe Harry Styles’ cock. He could honestly become a poet right now, just because of the very sight of Harry’s cock right in front of him. This could cure many diseases.

Harry’s cock is longer than his, but his is thicker. He’s comparing dick sizes with his soulmate and future husband. Great.

“Hey, Lou? Do you want strawberry or blueberry flavored lube?”

“Well, considering I’m not going to eat any, I’m sorry love, but I don’t really care,” He complains, taking the painfully long amount of time Harry’s taking to kick out of his briefs and throw them to the ground. He puts his hands on the back of his shirt and pulls it off, letting it hit the ground with a soft thud.

Harry takes a random flavored lube bottle from the drawer and takes a condom, setting them beside Louis gently. Louis wants to have three children with him and live in a cottage. “Ready for liftoff.”

Louis spreads his legs for him again, stroking his cock lazily with one hand and pushing his glasses up again with his other hand. “I’m waiting, dear Harold.”

Harry stumbles onto the bed again, quite graciously, might Louis add, a twinkle in his eye. He sits on his feet in between Louis’ spread legs, opening the bottle of lube with a soft snap. Louis watches with heavy eyelids as Harry spreads some of the lube over his fingers messily, how he’s absolutely shaking with excitement.

“Are you - is this okay?” Harry asks uncertainly, his fingertip barely touching Louis’ rim. “I mean, I don’t know-”

“It’s fine, _good_ ,”

Harry presses one finger inside of Louis with a clenched jaw, looking at him like he’s about to break him. He slides in gently, and so, _so_ painfully slow.

“More,” Louis urges, pushing his hips into Harry’s finger. “Add another.”

Harry presses his middle finger to his index finger and slowly pushes back inside, with two this time. Louis grunts, his hips making soft circles in attempt to get Harry deeper inside of him. The bed groans under his weight shifting to different sides every other second, and Harry makes a small noise when his fingers are completely pressed into Louis.

“Do you need another?”

Louis wiggles around, “Just one more finger, then I’ll be good. Yeah.” He may not have been fucked for a whole millenium but he _does_ own fingers and dildos. Harry’s fingers, however, are five thousand times better than any dildo. He can’t wait to feel how good his cock feels, deep and nudging his prostate.

Harry presses his ring finger beside the first two and presses in again, the stretch burning slightly. He winces but settles into the feeling quickly, a whimper escaping his opened lips. He feels like he’s on fire. In a good way. Not that he knows what being on fire feels like. He’s just guessing.

“Okay, now,” Louis says quickly, pushing his hips against Harry’s fingers forcefully. “I’m going to actually, literally die if you don’t fuck me soon.”

Harry takes his fingers out slowly, licking his lips. His eyes are dark when he looks at Louis, and _god_ Louis is going to evaporate into thin air. He watches as Harry tears open the condom with his teeth and slides it on his hard cock, taking the bottle of lube with a shaky hand and spreading some of the slick onto himself. Louis’ legs are shaking and he’s making soft little noises against his will due to his fucking excitement.

“You’re still up for coming on my glasses, right? I’ve seriously been waiting for this since I was fourteen,” Louis admits, his heart racing as he watches Harry come closer, lining his cock up with his arse. “ _Fourteen_.”

“What a naughty fourteen year old.” Harry says as he pushes the tip of his cock inside ever so slightly, making Louis grip the sheets and let out a loud, pornstar-like moan. Harry makes a face, “If you keep making those noises I’ll finish in, like, five seconds.”

Louis giggles, but it turns into another graphic pornographic moan when Harry slides inside of him deeper, the stretch overwhelming. “ _Fuck_ ,”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry agrees, pausing his hips when he’s halfway. “Are you alright?”

“I’m _wonderful_. I’m dandy. Just, c’mon, yeah? Fuck me already,”

That seems to flip a switch in Harry. He pushes inside of Louis in one quick motion, making Louis arch his back and knit his eyebrows together, letting out one of the loudest noises he’s ever made in his entire life. He’s almost certain that he’s going to be getting a call from his old lady neighbor Peggy, checking to see if he’s getting tortured or something.

Harry leans down and presses a kiss into Louis’ flushed chest, moving up until they’re kissing. Harry’s lips move against his own easily, his plump ones completely covering his thin, pink lips. He feels as Harry slides his tongue into his mouth, licking and teeth clinking harshly when he tries to move his head at another angle.

“Oh, god, Harry,” Louis says into Harry’s mouth, taking his bedsheets in his hands so tightly that his hands might go numb soon. Harry starts properly fucking into him, the proper kind of fucking to where you can hear skin on skin and moans and _filthy_ noises that make it all the more pleasurable. Harry’s rough, warm hand trails down Louis’ stomach, feeling the slick skin where his cock is leaking out precome.

He takes Louis’ cock in his hand again and starts stroking in time with his thrusts, and Louis feels completely overwhelmed, like his whole body is just a heartbeat. He can feel his heartbeat in his mouth and ears and _everywhere_ , can feel Harry’s hand on him _everywhere_ even though he’s only touching his cock. He’s so overwhelmed with it, overwhelmed with Harry fucking into him so fast that he can barely make noises.

“You feel so _good_ ,” Harry says with gritted teeth, speeding up the snapping of his hips. He’s going harder now, too, the sound of their bodies hitting echoing in Louis’ room, and even though he doesn’t know where Liam and Zayn are, he’s pretty sure whether they’re in the flat or walking down the road they could hear it.

“Harry, ‘m _close_ ,” He says brokenly, voice breaking off the last word so he can moan loudly into the side of Harry’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking close,”

Harry moans highly, a strangled noise that goes straight to Louis’ cock, makes him that much closer to spilling all over his stomach and Harry’s hand.

The bed creaks under Harry’s movements, quick sounds that sound exactly like what he imagines Harry to look like above him. “Lou- _ah, fuck_ \- Louis, I’m close, too,” He pulls out and Louis whines at the sudden loss of Harry’s cock.

Harry tears the condom off with a sharp intake of breath all while still managing to stroke Louis’ sensitive cock, and Louis watches as he walks on his knees towards his face, stroking his cock quick and fast and gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw. “You look so good, Lou,”

Louis arches his back, looking up into Harry’s eyes while he strokes his cock and focuses on Louis’ glasses. Harry’s going to come on Louis’ glasses, and it’s going to be a thing to write down in a journal to remember forever.

“Fuck-” Harry cuts himself off, his come spilling straight onto Louis’ lenses and black frames, and Louis can’t even see how good it looks but the thought of Harry coming on his glasses makes him lose it completely, shuddering and spilling onto his own stomach and on Harry’s still moving hand. Harry strokes him through it, making Louis whimper and make small figure eights with his hips to feel all the movements Harry’s hand is offering, and fuck. That happened.

It takes a moment for Louis to calm down. It’s far shorter than he would think, because honestly, who in their right mind would be alright after being fucked by Harry Styles?

Louis opens his eyes. Harry’s come is smeared on his lenses, and he can barely see anything but Harry. He’s looking at him with such dark eyes, his bottom lip caught between his perfect squared teeth. “Should I… should I get a napkin?”

It’s not really that funny, but Louis bursts out laughing and curls into Harry’s sweaty naked body, eyes fixed on his glistening tattoos. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, but, it’s gonna dry and-”

“Sleep with me.”

He does.

-

Louis wakes up still wearing his glasses.

They’re fucking ruined, is what they are. They’re like, disgustingly crusty. He cringes at the word and at how long he’s going to have to scrub them clean.

Harry’s still beside him. He’s naked, peaceful looking in his sleep. His lips are parted and there’s small noises coming out and wow, Louis has never wanted to marry someone so badly. He thinks that there’s probably something wrong with him, because wanting to marry someone days after meeting isn’t normal.

“Harry…”

Harry’s eyes open slowly. His pupils dilate. The sun’s shining and Louis can see small details of Harry’s face, like a small freckle by his nose. “What… what time is it?”

“Time for me to attempt to make breakfast and fail.”

“You’re cute.” Harry says, voice rough with sleep. “You also need to clean your glasses. Like I told you.”

The door opens.

Louis lets out a girly shriek and covers them both with a short blue blanket that he doesn’t remember being there.

“We made you breakfast.” Liam announces, thankfully clothed.

Zayn shakes his head. “I told him not to, considering we didn’t get _any_ sleep-”

“Oh _fuck off_ , Zayn. I’ve had to deal with that for fucking ever.” Louis complains, curling into a laughing Harry’s side.

“Where did this blue blanket come from?” Harry asks quietly. He looks up at Liam and Zayn and offers a smile. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Yes, I know.” Zayn looks at Louis amusedly. “ _Oh, Harry_ ,” He mocks, throwing his head back and putting his arm over his face. “Oh, _Harry_ , fuck me _harder_ ,”

Liam pushes Zayn out of the doorway. “You’re welcome for the blue blanket. Harry had goosebumps everywhere, I thought you needed to warm your naked bodies up.” He sets the plate of breakfast on Louis’ cluttered nightstand and tiptoes out of the room, mumbling something about “Zayn’s bloody shoe always tripping him,” which is weird, because Liam’s really only been here for a day. Louis reckons Liam’s a bit of a wannabe housewife.

“Do you think they poisoned this food?”

Harry laughs into the side of Louis’ neck. “Obviously not. Your mate Zayn obviously _loved_ your moans, if he’s memorized them. I think he’ll keep us around.”

“I hate to ruin your theory, but the only coherent thing I could think of was your name. And also lots of curse words.”

Harry takes Louis’ glasses from his face, attempting to clean them with his ripped shirt. “Speaking of theories, Zayn was right. You have a lovely arse.”

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is @delicatelouis


End file.
